


Best Served Cold

by iamee



Series: The Places Where We End [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, Forced Enjoyment, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Mention of Past Abuse, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Top Hannibal, Will Has No Table Manners, messy blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/pseuds/iamee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will figures it out. Hannibal decides to keep him. It goes on for far too long...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caylar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caylar/gifts).



> (Hey honey, I'll write something sweet for you soon, promise)
> 
> Takes place somewhere before the end of series 1 and then moves on into AUish territory. Not that it matters because there's not a lot of plot here.
> 
> Okay, so I like a challenge and this is definitely something I've never written before. Good luck.

**Best Served Cold**

 

Will drifts in and out of an uneasy slumber. At times he is conscious of being cleaned again, of warm wetness on his skin, a damp cloth, a tongue... he can't tell, but he tries to sink deeper into the mattress, away from the feeling, before he falls into darkness once more and wakes, perhaps hours later, to a change of light in the room and the coldness seeping out of his body. He sits up, hands managing to steady him on the bed's soft surface. It takes him a second to notice that he isn't tied up any longer. His wrists are numb. His head feels dizzy. He's dressed in a dark suit, but he can't remember. He doesn't remember.

He tries to get up, only to fall back down when his knees turn out to be too weak to support him. There is the memory of coolness on the crook of his arm, a needle breaking the skin and then nothing more. But he doesn't know whether it is part of a dream, if all this is a nightmare in the end. He struggles again, against sleep trying to claim him and eventually he gets up, making a few shaky steps through the room. For a brief moment he catches his own reflection in a mirror, dark circles underneath his eyes, his hair tousled but the clothes fitting him like they've been tailored for exactly that purpose. He shivers involuntarily, grabs hold of the doorknob and finds it opening when he turns it. 

The way through the corridor is a slow process, supporting himself on walls and his breathing heavy. There is hollowness in his stomach and it only adds to the spinning of his head. The world slips in and out of shape in front of his eyes. But then he reaches the stairs and that takes all his focus: small steps, feet searching before he dares to set them down. Somehow he can keep the memories at bay, but barely. He reaches the last step without falling and now the front door is close, he can reach it if only...

"You're late. I was beginning to think I should get started without you."

It's more instinct than a conscious decision that he runs for the door. If it can be called running, since he stumbles halfway, would have dropped to the floor if it weren't for the arms around his waist that catch him, drag him back into the hall and into the living room. Will wriggles in the grip, the only result being that it tightens around him. Hannibal's lips are close to his ear, hot breath making the small hairs on Will's neck stand up.

"What can be said in your favour, William: it doesn't get boring with you."

The first thing Will sees is the set table, candles flickering and the smell so good it makes his mouth water and his stomach growl.

"No..." he chokes, turning his head away as he is pushed into a chair. And then, more quietly. "You can't."

Hannibal's hand is on the backrest of his chair, when he leans close again, placing a napkin on Will's lap.

"I think you'll find that I can do whatever pleases me."

Will presses his lips together, feeling sick and hungry at the same time: "Don't do this."

"Relax, William. It's just dinner." Hannibal pushes his chair closer to the table and crosses over to his own seat.

Will makes a sound that is dangerously close to a sob again: "Oh god, please shut up."

He's trembling in the chair, so exhausted, knows his body demands the food, that it can't go on like this forever and he watches Hannibal's face for a reaction. There is none but a raised eyebrow and Will closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he clutches the table's edge: "Stop."

"I can see you're in a state of emotional disarray." Hannibal says slowly and Will blinks, seeing him illuminated by the candlelight. Monster. Blink. Beautiful. "That's the reason I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Can't you just... save us both the trouble and---" Will's heart is beating rapidly at this point, his chest too tight. "Just kill me and get it over with."

Hannibal's fingers wrap around the glass, ever so elegantly, lifting it from the table and to his lips. He smells the dark, red wine before focusing on Will again: "You must be aware of the fact that if I wanted you dead we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Conversation." Will blurts out, eyes darting between his captor and the plate. His stomach revolts. "That's it? That's what you're calling it? Just like I'm your... your fucking guest?!"

There is a smile forming at one corner of Hannibal's mouth. "Well, you are my guest and there has been..." he trails off, takes a sip, closing his eyes and Will shudders.

"Don't say it." He says, hand reaching for the knife next to his plate, shaking fingers finally, finally managing to grip it, pull it under the table before Hannibal looks at him again. He's going to be sick. "Just don't say it."

There is a moment of silence, while Will takes another breath, gripping the knife harder and lowering his head, free hand finding its way to his brow, pressing into skin, welcoming pain. "I... I don't feel so good."

"Forgive me, I didn't even ask if you wanted a drink." There is something in Hannibal's voice that causes sweat to form on Will's temple and he swallows. He cannot know. It's all in his head. 

"Water would be nice."

"Water." He hears Hannibal getting up and coming to a halt next to him. Will holds his breath, waiting for the right moment to make his move even though he feels he might faint from the spinning in his head.

"Oh, you wouldn't want to do that..." it's like ice is trickling down his spine when the knife is taken from his fingers and he struggles, tries to land a punch, whatever, just give something resembling a fight.

"I am getting a little tired of your resistance to learn."

"Stop it." Will groans when his hands are forced down on the table.

"Drink your water."

He hears the liquid splash into his glass.

"Kill me." Will mutters. "You know you want to."

"Drink." There is amusement in his voice and maybe that's what turns Will's stomach with a fear that is bigger than even his need to show that he hasn't given up yet. So he takes the glass and drinks, eyes dry and burning, avoiding Hannibal's gaze resting on him, watching him gulp down the water.

"Now that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Will shakes his head, sparkling water cool on his tongue and it eases the pain in his head a little.

"But I'm afraid you haven't learned anything so far." Hannibal continues, oh so calmly, not missing a beat as he grabs the armrest of Will's chair, turning it around so he has to face him. "I think you can agree that you've been very bad. That little trick with the knife..." he studies Will's face. "We can't let that slide. It's in your best interest."

"What." Will feels the glass slipping from his fingers and it shatters, the sound making him flinch. "What could you ?"

He doesn't know how to finish the sentence. But he thinks it, thinks it on some deep level where he is shivering in a corner of his mind, where the darkness is closing in and he looks up at Hannibal. What more is there to take from him?

"Oh, I think you know."

"No..." it's like he's been saying the word for all eternity and there is no purpose to it anymore.

Hannibal sighs, it's almost like Will is being a nuisance for not reacting differently.

"Enough talking for tonight." He abruptly yanks Will out of the chair, the glass shards scrunching under their feet. "Even though I'm curious what else that pretty mouth of yours can do."

Will shakes in his grip, repeating his 'no' until Hannibal lets go of him: "Kneel."

It doesn't sound like the threat it is, not like everything that's to come and it makes it so much worse.

"When..." Will sinks to his knees, trying to avoid the shards and his skin tingling like something's crawling over it. "Wh-when are you going to stop?" He kneels, his face burning and Hannibal steps closer. "When are you going to be satisfied?"

"Do you actually want me to answer that, Will?"

Hannibal's standing right in front of him, his hand coming up on Will's head, petting the hair and Will bites down on his lip. "How about we get started?"

"I," Will feels like crying but he doesn't want to, not again, not in this position, when he's about to... he lets out a little whine, can't stop it.

"I've never." he says and the fingers in his hair pause.

"I didn't expect any different." Hannibal says after the longest time, nails gliding softly over Will's scalp.

This shouldn't be happening. None of this. It's like he's fallen into an abyss, like he keeps falling without ever meeting rock bottom. Will's fingers are trembling as he opens the zipper, feeling the outline of Hannibal's cock under the fabric and by now his cheeks are so hot he gives a small sound of relief when cool fingertips brush over them.

"I am convinced you'll try your best."

"Ohgod!" Will shuts his eyes, fumbling for the waistband, not wanting to look when he so clearly remembers what it felt like when Hannibal had him on the sofa, on the bed... He feels sore just from the thought alone, and his stomach tightens as warmth spreads in his lower body. This is nothing but wrong and still he can't help his body's reaction.

He leans his forehead against Hannibal's hip, feels the warmth of his skin underneath the fabric, feels finger slip back into his hair. He tries to breathe, the scent slightly overwhelming, this whole thing so intimate. Them, next to the table and doing... this.  
Will holds onto Hannibal, turns his head until his lips brush where the zipper is opened, revealing underwear, and he makes the mistake to look up, meet Hannibal's gaze.

"Oh," he says like his mind has just gone blank and maybe it's true. With a shudder he presses up to him, brushing his nose over Hannibal's clothed cock, before he breathes a kiss there, almost shyly.  
The fingers have started to stroke his hair again, quietly encouraging Will and he pulls down the trousers a little further, inches nearer so he can plant another kiss, the fabric dampening with the heat of his breath. He is breathing through his nose, opening his mouth, hands on the waistband. With parted lips he kisses along his length, daring to let his tongue dart out once or twice, fingers curling into his hair. He presses his palms to Hannibal's hipbones, with closed eyes and breathing kisses, licking damp fabric, feeling the hardness underneath. He can't think, he doesn't know what to do and glass is cutting into his suit pants. His lips are wetted by his own spit, he makes a small sound in the back of his throat as Hannibal's fingers tighten in his hair: "Enough playing around."

Will's sight goes blurry when he opens his eyes, knuckles turning white, his fingers slipping underneath the waistband, pulling down trousers and underwear as quickly as he can, as quickly as he allows himself without giving away too much of his dread. Of his... anticipation... (?)  
He shudders at the realisation, tells himself he's not looking forward to this. He doesn't want to be used. He doesn't. But then he gets up a little, as far as he can in his kneeling position and he is hard in his boxers and it makes him choke down a sob.

"I can't." Will mumbles, searching Hannibal's face for something, a hint that he just wants him to admit it, a trace of an end to this.

"I think we've established what you can and cannot do." Hannibal grips his hair harder, pulling once and the surprise more than the pain makes Will's eyes water. "Don't make me ask you twice."

"You..." Will turns his gaze from him but now he is faced with another sight entirely. And nothing, not god nor any earthly power can save him, that much he has understood by now. He allows himself one breath before leaning in, pressing his lips to the tip, shivers rolling down his spine and his knees hurting on the floor.

"Come on, don't be shy." Hips are rolling in his grip, against his lips and his mouth is filled with too much too fast, and Will chokes, throwing back his head but Hannibal's hands keep him in place.

"Breathe through your nose."

He does, eyes half-closed and stinging, cock heavy, rich, too-much, so he moves his tongue to the side, swiping it across smooth skin in the process and Hannibal gives a sound of approval.  
The noise from Hannibal's throat – as much as Will wants to deny it – jolts through his body like an electrical shock, and the sensation is by no means unpleasant. He swallows his spit, trying to ignore the distant urge to gag, opening his lips and he feels him sliding in easily, tastes him everywhere, licking around him as good as he can, trembling with the effort of coordinating his tongue's movement and keeping his body upright.

"Use your hand." Hannibal's voice is almost friendly, like he is granting him a way to make this better, like he's giving him some well-meant advice. Will takes both hands off his hips, one to press to his own thigh, the other to wrap around the base of Hannibal's cock, stroking him slowly, unsure of the angle, of his approach.

"Oh William, what to do with you...?" Again he grabs his hair harder, moving Will's head so there is motion now, the sound of wetted skin slipping over Will's equally wet lips. He's pushing into his mouth with deliberate thrusts, Will's teeth grazing his own fingers as he has to take him in deep and for a moment he panics, gurgling, coughing, his eyes overflowing with tears before Hannibal pulls out, fingers now soft in Will's curls, giving him a second to catch his breath, to get over the moment of sickness.

"Now, let's try this again, shall we?" And Hannibal pulls him close once more, filling his mouth, thrusting sharply before slowing down, and Will closes his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks as he presses his own hand further up his thigh to were he is painfully hard inside the suit.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" Hannibal gives him a little slap to the back of his head and Will almost jumps, yanking his hand from his crotch guilty. He tries shaking his head, saying 'no', focuses on the movement of his head again, hollowing his cheeks and producing a slurping sound that colours his cheeks even more. Hannibal's holding his head, his hips moving in a rhythm Will tries to mimic, breathing as good as he can, fingers curled around Hannibal's cock, spit spread over the skin, slick between his own fingers and easing the motion. He's feeling hot, the collar of his suit damp with sweat. It's exhausting, kneeling like this, his jaw starting to ache with the unknown effort. The corners of his mouth feel like they might split open after the next thrust. And still, still he has to whine almost greedily, though it comes out strangled. He has to come at some point or he feels he might faint. Blood is boiling in his veins and he forces himself to take Hannibal in as far as he can.

"All of a sudden so eager to please?" Fingertips brushing his forehead like a kiss and Will moans around Hannibal, causing his hips to stutter against his lips for a second.

Will is trying to swallow but his mouth is too full, Hannibal's length pressing up against the roof and the texture foreign on his tongue. So he can't keep up and liquid trickles down the corner of his mouth, a mixture of saliva and precome, salty and making everything slippery, his moving fingers around the base, sliding over the skin more easily. Every time Hannibal's cock glides over his lips it produces a wet, wet noise, a sound so goddamn intimate and in some twisted way glorious, Will whimpers again and again, the vibration in his throat seemingly setting off something in Hannibal who starts moving in faster, smaller movements, possessing Will's mouth fully and guiding his head with his hands fisted in curls.

"William." He mutters and Will cries harder, almost without a sound, his body tensing and shaking.  
He wants to say something, anything. His chest feels tight around his racing heart and now the tears are on his lips too, making everything even messier, the wetness in his mouth, around Hannibal's cock, it's all so slippery, his fingers sticky and the back of his throat sore. Will moves his head, lets himself be moved, strokes Hannibal sloppily when he remembers that there is not just his mouth, not just his own cock leaking into the fabric of the suit. He's hot, so hot, blood singing in his ears like the stream of a red river, tears still flowing from his half-shut eyes. Hannibal's holding him, probably the only thing that's holding him now that he seems to lose himself in the sheer sensation of his mouth being fucked so thoroughly. Hannibal whispers something, it might be encouragement, it might be a warning and Will whines, twists, trying to rub himself off against his pants but the friction is insufficient and the grip in his hair tightens as Hannibal pulls him oh so close, and Will's finger slip from his cock, he's grasping for something to hold onto, finding nothing but Hannibal.

His eyes are closed now, the noises coming from both of them following him into the darkness behind his eyelids, and he trembles, his body convulsing. He hears Hannibal speak again and it might be 'beautiful'. Just that word and fingers pressing into his scalp, pulling at his hair, causing more tears. Will feels like he might suffocate, explode into millions of tiny shards himself because it's too muchtoomuchtoomuch to take a second longer. He's stumbling on the edge, so ready to fall into the shadows beyond, mind so far gone it takes him a moment to realise that Hannibal's tensing up, stilling against him for a split second before Will's name breaks from his lips once more and he spills into his mouth, the taste filling Will's tongue and seeping to the core of his very being. Salt and bitterness and something sweet and Will whimpers, groans, sobs, all noises choked back as he swallows.

He's doing his best to swallow, that is to say. Every sound down along with Hannibal's come, something clicking on in his head, reminding him of what he's doing. And Will coughs, chokes, pants as Hannibal pulls out, gives him air and he feels he can swallow if he forces himself, his eyes stinging again with the effort, causing more tears as he tries to breathe, convinced he'll die like this and his face burning unstoppably. And then Hannibal's there, pulling him up and Will collapses against him, sobbing violently because he is still alive, then crying turning quiet, more steady. Because he's alive. It's not over and he doesn't know how much more he can take, doesn't know what to do with his own arousal as Hannibal works opens his suit pants, cool air on Will's hot skin, making his crying stop at the shock.

"You did very well." Hannibal says as he turns him around, shoves him back onto his chair so Will has to grab the rest, his stomach coming up on the surface. He wants to turn around, but Hannibal's already close, pressing into his space.

"I am not disappointed. Relax."

Will's face dampens his sleeves when he buries it against his arms, feeling a hand on his backside, caressing the skin. He breathes, his heartbeat slowing down a little and the choking sounds stopping to escape his lips. His mouth feels sore and hot, he can still taste Hannibal and he shudders.

"You did well." Hannibal repeats, somewhere close to his earlobe, his fingers smooth now on Will's cheeks. "Yet..." Will tenses at his tone, biting his lip as Hannibal's hand leaves his ass. "You tried to escape." A sound in the air and the slap isn't that hard but unexpected and Will's hips jerk, eyes snapping wide open.

"Ohgodoh-!"

"You insulted me."

Another slap, fingers burning on Will's skin and he lowers his head, crying out.

"And..." Hannibal says, matter-of-factly. "You tried to stab me."

Will is hard, so hard, pressed against the chair, his belly and he's close, so he whimpers into his sleeve, panting for breath.

"I'm... sorry." He croaks out just as Hannibal lands his next slap, hips stuttering and his head spinning.

"Of course you are." Hannibal says softly, caressing his burning skin, causing Will to shake on the chair. And then Hannibal pushes two fingers inside of him, without a pause or hesitation, right up against Will's prostate, thrusting roughly and Will's knuckles turn white around the backrest as he comes, in hot quick spurts, covering his belly and the chair, sticky and sweet and he screams out Hannibal's name before he can bite his tongue.

Will is holding onto the chair like it's the only thing keeping him from drowning in a dark empty ocean. He licks his lips, swallows tears and spit and that fucking taste, still shaking from the force of his orgasm. Hannibal's fingers are inside of him, every now and then slightly pushing against that spot, almost lazily and Will buries his face in his arms, sobbing quietly, not able to calm down.

"Your performance almost made up for the fact that the food should be cold by now." Hannibal's strokes over his hair gently, like someone would touch a friendly pet.

"Please..." Will says, voice muffled by the jacket's fabric. "Pleaseplease!"

Hannibal gives a small laugh: "Please was yesterday, William. What do you say when someone's been generous to you?" He spreads his fingers and something rips through Will, making him throw back his head, pain and some twisted enjoyment filling him from head to toe: "Th-thank you!"

 

 

**The End**


End file.
